Call it a family
by Sociopathy
Summary: family ˈfamɪli,-m(ə)l- noun 1. a group consisting of two parents and their children living together as a unit. Not exactly how Aiden or Sherlock Holmes would describe it. 2.a group of people related by blood or marriage. Much more like the situation Sherlock, Aiden and John find themselves in.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Dull day, isn't it?

_"Aiden..." She hears her mother's quiet, whispery voice as she walks down a hall. The hall is dark, very dark, and cold too, she can barely make out the outline of her shaking hands. She keeps on moving down the corridor until she reaches the room at the end of it. Weirdly enough, its door was lit, yet there was no light. She takes in the image of the door she saw thousands of times before. It is a large dark brown oak door, old-fashioned, but in a rather good condition, the margin of it is decorated with a strip of gold paint that matches the round doorknob._

_"Help me..." she hears the voice again, louder than before. Of course it would be, she was in front of her room after all. She really doesn't want to go in, but she does anyway. She always did, every single time. She opens the door and step inside, as soon as she does so, the door behind me shuts and locks itself. She doesn't jump or react in any way, she saw it coming anyway. She looks around and then she see her mother. She's sitting on a chair, staring at Aiden with wide, emotionless eyes. She remains quiet and unblinking as Aiden makes small steps towards her mother, knowing the only way for her to wake up is to go along with the dream until it is over. When the girl is a step away from what looks like a now-dead person, it suddenly grabs her hand. Aiden knew this was going to happen, but still she freaks out and tries to pull back while her mother's corpse, as it is best described, looks at her and opens its mouth to let thousands of spiders crawl out of it, causing Aiden to scream at the top of her lungs while the damned creatures crawl up her arm._

Aiden suddenly woke up, panting heavily with the blanked twisted around her in a way that seems too impossible to be true. She sighed loudly and sat up, pushing her dark brown hair out of her eyes before taking a quick glance at the clock on the night stand beside the bed. 3:00 was the digits the red lines on the screen indicated. With yet another loud sigh she crashed back into the bed.

"Nightmare again?" the girl heard Thomas ask in his natural quiet voice. Thomas was a 6 year old boy that lived at this orphanage. She, on the other hand, was only brought here a few months ago, after her mother had died of cancer. She was expecting it, really, but it still hit her pretty badly. Especially when her last words were _'Find him.' _That was it. No _'I love you'_. No _'You'll be alright''_. Nothing but _'Find __him__'_. _Him_. Who exactly was this _him_, you may wonder. This _him_ was the man that oh-so-kindly gave 23 of his chromosomes to join with 23 of her mother's in order to create the first cell that later divided to create, well Aiden herself. In case you have not understood that simple and short explanation, this him we are talking about was Aiden's so-called father.

"Just go to sleep, Thomas." Aiden replied simply, rolling over to look at the boy. She couldn't see him that well, but she could make out his wide deep blue eyes.

"But… You're leaving tomorrow right?" he asked.

"I've said it already didn't I?" the teenager replied in a rather harsh tone, causing him to just nod and hide himself under the covers. She didn't feel bad, really. Afterall, she's only known him for a short time, and she never got attached to people.

"Have a safe journey." The maid that first welcomed Aiden here said as she handed over her suitcase.

"Well the possibility of me getting killed on my way to 221B Baker Street is rather low, seeing as we are only 30 minutes away from the destination. Though there is always the low probability of a road accident." Aiden replied and grabbed the suitcase, walking towards the taxi and taking her place in the passenger's seat.

"I suppose you already have the address?" asked Aiden, looking over at the driver. She took a few seconds to look him up and down.

"Yes, yes." he nodded, covering his mouth with his fist to cough heavily before the car drove off. Aiden spent most of her time watching his right hand move down to the compartment in the door, only to move it away quickly. He repeated this gesture a few more times.

"You can smoke if you want, you know." The girl burst out after about 10 minutes, getting irritated by the old man's fidgeting.

"How did yo-" he began asking, but she cut him off as she began explaining.

"That's simple. You smell of smoke." our teenager started but was rudely interrupted by him.

"Could've been around a smoker." the driver said and smirked, as if he had caught her trying to act smart, when actually she was just simply smart.

"Well, if you would've let me _finish_ before you interrupted." Aiden shot back, sighing before going on. "After you answered my question you coughed heavily, much too heavy for it to be just a cold. Your voice is hoarse, maybe due to the paralysed cilia that stops your throat from being cleaned properly, another thing to indicate you are a smoker. Moving on. Appearance. There are multiple wrinkles around your mouth, generally caused from repetitive puckering. Next to your clothing. There's ash on your lap and there is a small burnt mark on your trousers too, generally happens to people that smoke in a car. Wind pushes ash back into the car, sometimes it's still hot. But you haven't had one since this morning have you? I can tell. You've been quite jumpy and fidgety. All smokers tend to do that when they haven't smoked in a while and are in desperate need of nicotine. You want a cigarette. Wait no. You don't _want_ one. You _need_ one." she let her brain speak by itself, talking at a fast rate which seemed to amaze the cabbie even more than what she was actually saying, when she finally stopped she took in a small breath.

"Convinced now?" she asked, raising a brow at him.

The old man smiled and nodded. "Ah yes, but look at that, we're already here." he said as the car came to a stop right in front of a large black door that had a gold-coloured sign reading 221B on it. Aiden moved her gaze down the street to notice the sign that said Baker Street. So she was finally here.

Aiden soon watched the cab zoom down the street and around a corner out of sight. She took in a deep breath and turned around to face the large white-walled flat. It was nothing special, just a normal, regular, typical British house. The type that blended into a whole row of other houses that looked mainly the same, the only way you could distinguish one from another was the slightly different hue in colour and the architecture of the windows. In much simpler words, they all looked pretty boring, dull even. Nothing special about them. Sure, some were shops, others were cafes, but none of them actually looked interesting, or intriguing. But then again, none of the houses in this city was really enough to keep Aiden interested for more than a few second, none except this particular house she was standing in front of. Sure, on the outside it was just another regular, ordinary house, but as many people would quote Ralph Waldo Emerson_ 'What lies behind us and what lies ahead of us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us'_. Sure, when you first hear it, this would not exactly apply to the house, unless you actually decided to think about it, look a little closer and realize that the quote, does indeed, apply to the house before Aiden. Quotes. Why on Earth was she thinking of quotes right now? Why quotes when she could be thinking of something much more useful, such as what exactly to say after she knocks onto the damned door. How to introduce herself and how to explain herself. If she actually decided to knock on the door, or maybe ring the bell, either way she knew she wasn't ready just yet.

Pacing back and forth, Aiden began to think of all the possible ways of introducing herself. Could she just go up to the one-and-only Sherlock Holmes and simply just say what she had to say, in the simplest way possible, like any other person might do? No, she wouldn't go down to that level. She would create a perfectly elaborated and detailed introduction that would prevent any more questions from being asked. An introduction that explained everything, every single possible question that Sherlock Holmes would want to ask would already have been answer. In the very sophisticated explanation that her brain was currently producing. Yes, that was indeed one of the best ways of presenting herself. A way that would impress him enough.

"Okay, here we go." the girl told herself as she finally turned back to 221B and walked up to the door, raising her hand up to the doorbell. She was just about ready to press it when suddenly the door opened by itself. Well, it didn't really open by itself it was opened by someone on the inside, of course.

"What took you so long, for heaven's sake!" Taking a step back, Aiden looked up at the man before her. Tall, with a sharp face of harsh angles and prominent cheekbones, a head of dark curls that resembled her own, out of all his facial features his eyes intrigued her the most. They shared the same trait as hers, the difference in colouration of part of the pupil, sectoral heterochromia iridis. She looked over the blue eyes with green speckles, but didn't dare meet them. The way he looked at her made her feel small, powerless and insignificant.

"Speak child, fast and clear. I know you're not mute, so just speak your mind out." his gaze was now completely on her. He was trying to analyse her, she decided as she watched his eyes move from one part of her body to the other in a matter of seconds.

"Trying to deduce things, I suppose?" she finally managed to find her voice again, though she wished it wouldn't have had to happen with this unprepared and poor choice of words.

"Well of course I am! It's what I do. Sherlock Holmes, the one and only, consulting detective. Here to solve cases that mere humans cannot." he exclaimed, smiling to himself as he said so.

"Oh, I'm not here to ask for you help about a case, that's for sure." Aiden snorted as she fought the urge to roll his eyes at the man's big ego. _'The one and only'_. As if.

"Oh, I assure you, I knew that. However, the one thing I need to question you on is who you are, of course." he eyed her carefully, this time his stare was on her face and unmoving.

"Who is that at the door, Sherlock?" she heard a voice chime in from somewhere higher up. The top of the stairs, she decided. Her thoughts soon being confirmed by the sound of alert footsteps moving down the steps. A much shorter man stopped behind Sherlock. He stood up straight, his posture like a soldier, his mousy-brown hair perfectly arranged. She noticed his eyes were a greyish colour, one feature that suddenly didn't make him as dull as he seemed before.

"Although you may be slightly shocked, Mr Holmes, I am your daughter." she responded simply, forcing herself to meet the gaze of the man that was now looking at her in a very different way.

She tried to make out what his thoughts could be, but his eyes were almost impossible to read. She felt vulnerable, not able to deduce what was going on into someone's head. She turned her gaze away from him to the man beside him.

"Hah, what a joke! Who put you up to this, kid? Was it some stupid reporter again? Was it Anderson? Mycroft even?" the man that she knew to be called John Watson asked, taking steps towards her. She could see it in his eyes that he couldn't believe it, or maybe he didn't want to. In order to test her theory she decided to say nothing. "This isn't true, Sherlock, is it?" he looked over at what seemed to be his friend before turning back to the girl. "Who put you up to this, god damnnit?!" he practically yelled. Feeling threatened and even slightly amused, Aiden took a step back.

"John!" Sherlock yelled over his friend's voice, silencing him. "Let's go upstairs. All of us. And have a chat." he added, simply turning around and making his way upstairs, with Watson following behind.

"You're not saying this is true, right?" his comrade insisted as he moved after him. Aiden had no other option but following behind them.

"Mrs Hudson! There is a suitcase outside, would you be so kind as to bring it inside?" Sherlock called out as soon as he reached the top of the stairs.

"Fine, but only this once, Sherlock. Remember, I am _not_ your maid!" she called back and seconds later the clicking of heels against the wooden floor was heard downstairs.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Let's have a chat

Aiden was sat before her father and this John person, who she presumed was his assistant; based on the research she did on the two. A cup of steaming tea was tightly held in her almost-shaking hands, doing her best to gain control of them as the two men's eyes bore into her, giving very little away. What was it the detective was thinking right now? What about his loyal ally?

How was this possible? The blogger thought as he looked at the girl. Could this girl really be his best friend's daughter? If so, when did it all happen and did he have an idea she existed before this very moment when she showed up at their door? But wait a second, there was still the possibility that this was all a joke, maybe even Sherlock was in on it too. That could've been the reason he didn't just dismiss the girl as soon as she claimed to be his daughter. Yes, that sounded like a reasonable explanation.

Sherlock, on the other hand, was spending his time analysing the girl over and over again. Her eyes, her hair, her skin, her lips, her eyes once again. He couldn't seem to move away from them, they were slightly similar,but then again, that could be a coincidence. No, he couldn't just pick that as the answer, not when this case was about a person that was very much alive and not dead, not when his final answer could change this girl's life completely. Where should he start now? Who was she, yes that was a good point to start off of. Maybe he could treat it like a case, but a little more carefully. Yes, that would be good.

"Name, age, date of birth, mother's name, birthplace." he finally said, looking over at the girl who had just finished taking a sip of the tea.

"My name is Aiden Holmes, no middle name, I'm 14, born on the 13th of October 1999, Evelyn Webb, London." Aiden answered, a slight edge in her voice as she realized she was being treated like a case and not an actual person. However, a large part of her brain found it to be a very effective approach as the key answers were the only ones given.

"Evelyn Webb, but you're Aiden Holmes. Don't you find that a bit weird, Sherlock?" John joined in, looking from the girl to the detective before taking a sip of his tea. "Ah, this tea is good." he added in a much quieter tone.

"My mother wanted me to have his surname, for whatever reason. I do not know, but I do have my birth certificate and I assume you want to see that." she said as she reached in her pocket and got out a neatly folded piece of paper which she handed over to John. "Oh and just for the record, I prefer coffee over tea." she said as the man grabbed the certificate, reading it over.

"Could be fake." he muttered just before Sherlock snatched it out of his hands.

"Do not be stupid, John! How elaborate do you think this would be if it was a joke Anderson came up with." Sherlock spoke as his eyes read over the certificate.

"So you're saying she is your daughter?" John said in a slightly accusing tone, as if that wasn't the answer he was looking for. Truthfully, it really wasn't.

"I did not say such things, but there is always a slight possibility." Holmes mumbled, not really concentrating on what John was saying until he looked up.

"Slight!" Aiden snorted quietly, pulling a face at them when they weren't looking.

"Slight. You wouldn't say that unless you were sure there was one. What are you saying, Sherlock?" John asked, looking over at him. A quick exchange of looks between the two and soon Sherlock turned to Aiden.

"If you don't mind, I would like you to leave the room for a few moments. Go Downstairs, find Mrs Hudson." he spoke quickly.

"Even if I did mind I would still have to leave the room wouldn't I?" Aiden rose a brow at him.

"Well...yes." he answered simply. With an exasperated sigh the teenager pushed herself up and made her way downstairs.

"Tell me, Sherlock. Tell me it isn't true." John said, looking into his best friend's eyes.

"I cannot do such thing." Sherlock said, turning around and moving away to look out the window.

"Can you not do the whole dramatic 'looking out the window look' and tell me what exactly is going on and how you can't just simply deny that." John begged, sitting down onto the sofa and looking over at the detective.

"That girl. She is my daughter. I'm 100% sure about that. It all adds up really." Sherlock said, turning around and pacing around the room.

"How Sherlock? How, god dammit! Explain it to me, I do not have your brain!" the blogger snarled, his patience wasting away.

"Find, okay, fine!" the detective said before turning to look at his friend. "I was 21 years old when I met her. Evelyn Webb, yes she was fascinating, much more interesting than all the others around. We got talking, had very different opinions on things, but that's what kept us interested in each other. She was the only woman I have ever felt attracted to, I suppose you could say. I'm sure you have noticed I don't go on a lot of dates, unlike yourself." he stopped for a second. "Anyway, it was a few months later that we got together and we erm-"

"Yes, you can skip that part, please do, actually." John interrupted, urging him to continue, his knee bouncing up and down as his brain took all the information in.

"Moving on, it was a few weeks after that she found out she had a baby an-" once again, the detective was interrupted by his friend.

"So you are telling me you knew about this all and didn't think of mentioning it?!" John stood up, raising his voice.

"Keep your voice down and listen John." Sherlock warned. "I was scared, only 21, certainly not ready and so I just left. As for me not mentioning it. I'm sure by now you have realized my brain works differently, so I just simply locked the memory away in the darkest dungeon of my mind palace. It was simple, too simple, I didn't think I'd ever have to deal with it again!" he said, trying to defend himself, but John looked pretty annoyed by now, angrily sipping at his tea.

"So you're telling me. You just left, knowing you had a child, decided to forget about it and thought you'll never have to face it again?" John raised his voice, his face turning red as he looked at the empty cup in his hand and threw it at the ground, watching it turn from a whole cup into thousands of shard.

"WATSON." Sherlock yelled angrily. "Calm yourself!"

John sighed loudly, taking in a few deep breaths before sitting back down onto the couch, looking down."What do we do then, Sherlock?" he asked.

"We keep her." the simple response made John's head snap up so quick it might as well have rocketed off of his neck.

"What? Are you insane? Sherlock, for God's sake, she isn't a puppy! you can barely take care of yourself, let alone a child!" John growled, pointing a finger at him. "What makes you think you can take care of a child?" he asked, calming himself a little.

"Are you challenging me?" Sherlock asked, standing up straight and looking down at him.

"This isn't a contest you can win just like that. Don't take it as a game, there's a life we're talking about here." John said slowly, trying his best not to punch him.

"She's got nowhere else to go." Sherlock said simply. "If you would've been observant enough you would've noticed the change in her eyes when I questioned her about her mother's name. She's dead, John. Dead. And there's no one else Aiden could go to." he said through gritted teeth.

John sighed, showing defeat. "I hope you know what you're doing, Sherlock."

"Tea good, darling?" Mrs Hudson asked, looking at Aiden as if she were a little puppy, pretending to not hear the shouting and smashing of things upstairs.

"I prefer coffee." she responded blankly, taking another sip of the tea in which she had just added about 3 teaspoons of sugar.

"Ah, I see, well I'm afraid this is all we have at the moment." the old lady said apologetically, making it almost impossible for Aiden to give back a rude reply. She just nodded in understanding and took another sip.

Why on Earth did she think following her mother's wish was a good idea? All she did so far was humiliate herself, get shouted at and she had lost her place at the orphanage. Why on Earth did she dare to hope that this man, this stranger, that she had recognized as her father would let her stay with him. And presuming he did, that would mean having to deal with the awkwardness that was inevitable, his stupid clients and that blogger of his, let alone having to go to school and trying to communicate with people that were clearly not on the same page as her.

"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock's loud voice swept Aiden away from her thoughts and back into this dull world she was stuck in. Next were the fast footsteps moving down the stairs, getting louder and louder.

"Jesus, is he always this noisy?" Aiden muttered under her breath.

"Yes, he generally is." the lady replied, smiling a little before the detective literally burst into the kitchen they were sat in. "Yes, dear?" she turned her attention over to the 'one-and-only' Sherlock Holmes, as he had described himself earlier on today.

"Would you be so kind as to show Aiden to one of the spare rooms? We can decorate it later." he said, finishing his sentence and moving his gaze over to the girl. "Isn't that what girls like to do?" he asked, tilting his head in a way that would've made him look like a clueless puppy, except the confident look in his eyes made him look more like a dragon.

Aiden stood up and sighed. "Yes. Normal girls." she muttered under her breath, making sure no one else heard her.

"Off we go then." Mrs Hudson beamed, leading the girl upstairs.

Aiden was laid back onto the bed who's sheets she had just changed, looking around the room, taking it all in. It was quite roomy, much bigger than what she had when she lived with her mother, certainly much bigger than the space allocated to her at the orphanage. The walls where white, same as the ceiling, window frames and curtains, giving the whole room the sickening feeling of a mental hospital. There wasn't much furniture, just the basic things you would have in a room: a closet, set of drawer, night stand, desk and a set of shelves. All empty. A perfect portrait of what she felt like in the last few months. Empty. She closed her eyes for a few moments, deciding to thinking about that word. Empty. Taken as an adjective it was generally defined as containing nothing, lacking meaning or sincerity. She could laugh for hours at how well the word described her at the moment. But then, thinking about it, she had always felt half empty, even before her mother's death she had felt this way. She thought it was because she'd never met her father, because she was lacking friends, but that wasn't it and the worst part was that there were no clues, no way of deducing what the answer might be. Was she just simply curse to live with that unsolved case for the rest of her life or would she one day work it all out? Maybe just maybe the answer was-**Knock. Knock. Knock.**

The sudden knocks on the door made the girl jump, her heartbeat accelerating a little, but as soon as she made sense of all that was happening she managed to calm herself down and open the door like any normal human being would do.

"Yes?" she asked, looking up at the person standing in front of her.

"Uh, hello Aiden. I was- we, Sherlock and I, were starting to feel hungry and then we just thought it would be a good idea for the three of us to go down to a restaurant and have some dinner." John said, his eyes moving from the ground to the ceiling to the left, to the right, anywhere but on her.

The girl took a few minutes to consider the offer before looking him in the eyes. "Yeah, sure." she responded, beginning to close the door, but John put his foot in the way of it closing.

"And Aiden, I'm sorry. About snapping at you back then. I just thought it was… yeah. I'm sorry." he added, stuttering a little.

"That's okay. I'll go get ready now." she replied, watching him go as she closed the door and walked over to her suitcase, only to be interrupted by Sherlock walking into the room.

"No time for changing. I'm hungry and our reservation is in 10 minutes. Off we go, off we go." he said, clapping his hands together and looking at her.

"Fine, fine. Have you even heard of knocking?" she mumbled as she made her way past him, heading outside.

"Knocking. knocking. What a dull thing to do. Walking inside and surprising people is much more fun than just knocking!" exclaimed the detective as he jumped into the cab which John had stopped right in front of their house.

"After you." John offered, letting Aiden take her seat next to Sherlock before he took his place beside her.

* * *

**Hello guys! Are any of you even reading this?If so, then what do you think so far? **

**I would love to hear your opinion on this fanfic. **

**Anyway, I am about to start working on the next chapter, seeing as I have 1 hour to work on it if I want to finish it tonight. **

**-Sociopathy xx**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Questions. Questions. Just stop already!

Aiden wasn't sure if John had made her sit next to Sherlock due to a coincidence, or even worse, on purpose with the idea that sitting beside him would help them 'bond' better; rubbish you heard on TV or read in fiction books. Whatever his intentions were, Aiden didn't feel that grateful. In all honestly, being around Sherlock, especially close enough so that she could compare herself to him, was certainly not one of her favorite things to do. Looking at him, talking to him, being observed by him, every single one of those things made her feel as if she couldn't make any mistake. Yet, at the same time, something made her want to prove that she was better than him, in all the ways possible, she needed to prove herself that, for some odd reason not even she could understand.

"So… " John broke the somewhat awkward silence. A rather poor conversation starter, in the opinion of the two 'greater' minds in the cab.

"John, I had greater faith in your social skills. I really did." Sherlock responded, looking past Aiden and towards his comrade, earning himself a glare from him.

"Thank you, Sherlock. That was very… kind of you." John managed to say, shooting daggers out of his eyes towards the detective. Not literally, of course.

"Pleasure." Sherlock replied simply, smiling at him.

"Your sarcasm is exceptionally poor, Mr Watson." Aiden remarked as the car finally parked in front of a not-that-fancy restaurant.

"Please, call me John." the blogger said as he got out of the cab and let Aiden walk out as well before closing the door, letting Sherlock pay and get out on the other side. To the majority of people, it would seem like a normal thing to do, but for John and sherlock it wasn't. This was basically John's way of repaying Sherlock for insulting him. Letting him do everything by himself. It may not seem like such a big 'punishment' but for Mr Holmes, it really was and Watson knew that all too well.

"So, I suppose we'll be eating here." Aiden said as Sherlock joined her side.

"An acquaintance of mine owns this place. Very helpful when we do not wish to spend any money." the detective explained as the three made their way inside and sat down at the closest table that could fit three people on it. It just so happened that it was the exact same table John and Sherlock had sat at when they were on the tracks of solving the 'A Study In Pink' case, as John had named it on his blog.

"Ah! Sherlock!" a much older-looking, chubbier man exclaimed as he walked over to the table. A quick glance was all it took for Aiden to know he was the owner of the restaurant. Perhaps one of Sherlock's cases. Why else would he be allowed to eat here for free? After spending so little time with the detective she would still tell he wasn't a very pleasant character to have as a friend. Sure, he may not insult people on purpose, but he clearly did it a lot without realising. A slightly scary thought crossed Aiden's mind. What would it be like if he actually tried to insult someone? Shaking the thought out of her head she decided to pay attention to the conversation again.

"Bloody hell! I knew you guys 'ere together. To think ye went crazy and adopted a child. Damn. You must be serious!" the owner exclaimed, staring at Aiden as he smiled at her

"No, no, no, Angelo. We are not together. This is Sherlock's daughter." John tried to explain, but the owner simply ignored him.

"Look at 'er. So adorable. Like a little puppy!"

"I would greatly appreciate it if you wouldn't call me a puppy especially since I lack fur, the same skeletal structure and I am far more intelligent" Aiden scanned the tattered menu in front of her "Now, I think I'm ready to order." Aiden said, finally ending the whole conversation, sparing the other two the trouble of doing it themselves.

"I owe you for that." John leaned over, whispering to her as this 'Angelo' person walked off, humming a disgustingly cheerful tune to himself.

"I assure you, John. You will owe me for many more things." she replied, looking over at him.

"Anyway! What made you come look for me today?" Sherlock asked, skipping the 'friendly' conversation and getting down to business. A kick to him foot from John, telling him he had done the wrong thing, yet he decided to ignore it. For the moment.

"What made you leave her when you found out?" Aiden answered with a question, a smart way of avoiding subjects.

"What makes you think I found out?" Sherlock replied, deciding to play this girl's little game. He would have enough time to interrogate her. They would be living together after all.

"What makes you think she didn't tell me about you?" Aiden continued to play the game. Her game. The game she could play for ages knowing she would always win. Except this man before her, with his striking eyes, he was smart, smarter than the other 'lab-rats' as she liked to call them, she had tested her skills on.

"So she did?" Sherlock asked, his eyes meeting hers, forcing her to keep his gaze. Technically she wasn't forced to do so, except she wanted to. She wanted to prove to herself that this man was no better than all the other people in the world, that he was nothing special.

"Yes, of course she did. Always." Aiden decided to quit playing around, didn't want to risk embarrassing herself.

"Enough with this. Let's all ask a question that we all must answer. Sounds better? Okay." John said, getting tired of having to deal with two 'children' fighting each other. He decided to be the responsible adult and order them around like the mature person he sometimes was.

"As dull and childish as that sounds, I agree." Aiden nodded, looking up seconds before a waiter came and placed their food down.

"Gay." Sherlock and Aiden both said at the same time. The waiter looked at them, glaring as he stormed off. John just sighed and covered his face for a few moments.

"I guess I will have to go first. What type of music do you listen to?" Watson asked, looking over at Aiden, as this 'new game' of theirs seemed to be going clockwise.

"So I'll be going first. I prefer rock, metal, hardcore, music similar to that. It helps me relax." she revealed, shrugging a little as she leant back in her seat, looking over at Sherlock who was next. Would he have the same taste in music as her? Probably not.

"Oh, rock. I do enjoy a bit of AC/DC!" John declared, catching Aiden's attention for a few seconds before Sherlock gave a loud sigh.

"I prefer classic music, though I rarely listen to it as I much more enjoy composing violin pieces myself." the detective spoke proudly, standing a little taller than he was before.

Violin, the instrument Sherlock had always played while trying to solve a perhaps 'more challenging' case. It helped him think, he had told Watson not long after the two had decided to live together. Everything was still so fresh in the doctor's memory, as if it had been yesterday, though many days have passed since the day he was introduced to his best friend by Mike Stamford.

"John? For God's sake, John! It's your turn!" Sherlock snapped, clearly losing his patience.

"We'll have to find you a school." John spoke at once, looking over at Aiden. What was he doing, playing childish games while he had to take care of a child? Sure, it wasn't his child, but it wasn't like Sherlock will suddenly turn from the 'calculating machine' he was into a perfect parent. At least he knew a little bit about children and their needs. Children. Was aiden even considered a normal child? From what she had shown so far, she was rather similar to Sherlock, but the two were, indeed, completely different in many other ways.

"A school, yes, that is necessary now, isn't it? Of course it is, what am I even saying. School. Of course. School. Yes. Let's see, which school is the best around. Hmm. I wonder which one would be best for her. Private or public?" Sherlock began talking to himself, placing his hands together as he closed his eyes and kept up with his mumbling until it became inaudible.

"Is he…" Aiden began, looking over at John who mouthed "Always." in reply. That was enough to make Aiden shut up and think as well.

A school. Of course she would have to go to school. How did she forget about that. School. She simply hated that place. Mainly because it was very similar to a jungle where people fight to become 'popular' for their survival. But, what good would being popular do them in the future? In the real world. The world where you have to be smart, or have many contacts to get a job that pays enough for a house, food and other necessities. The other issue, which she didn't find that important, but most teachers found concerning, was that she didn't have any friends. Truth be told, she wasn't even looking for any friends. What was the point anyway? Friends were stupid anyway. Very boring and always the same. Plus, a major distraction from learning. And reading. And let's not even talk about how they cannot handle her honest opinions and views of things.

"Lupus Street!" Sherlock finally opened his eyes. "There's a secondary school on Lupus Street, I do not really remember the name, hence it was simple and not very useful." he added, running a hand through his curly hair before grabbing his cutlery and starting to dig into his food.

"Lupus Street… That's not very far from Baker Street is it?" John mumbled to himself before looking up at his friend for assistance.

"It's exactly 14 minutes away, driving wise, though if you take today's traffic it would take 6 more minutes, so 20 for today." Aiden cut in before Sherlock could say anything. Waiting for no particular reply she looked down at her plate and started to play with her food, stealing a quick glance towards Sherlock to notice the corners of his lips curving up slightly to form a small smile.

"Then it's set! We shall send in your application as soon as possible, you know how slow schools move with their paperwork these days." John said after he had swallowed his food.

"So, Mr Watson, how was it?" Aiden questioned John after he had paid the bill. When she was met by John's confused expression she shook her head a little. "The war, I mean. How was it?" she asked, looking over at him as she took a last sip from her drink.

"Oh… I guess you deduced that too." he mumbled, a quick glance towards Sherlock before he sighed and looked back at the girl. "Not very pleasant, as you can imagine." he said, his tone rather harsh, though he didn't meant it to be like so. How would someone describe their time in the war without having to go back there in their head? How could you describe the pain and horror of seeing your comrades die in front of you, or in your arms, what about the guilt of not being able to save them? How could_ he_ describe _tha_t?

"John." Sherlock said in a strict voice, not exactly enjoying his friend's tonality.

"N-no. It's okay. It's my fault. I didn't know it was that much of a sensitive subject. I apologise." Aiden said, looking over at John.

"It's okay. You didn't know." John said, sighing a little.

Sherlock stood up, breaking the awkwardness. "Now then. Shall we depart?" he asked, looking over at the two who were beginning to raise to their feet.

By the time the three had finally found a taxi the street lights had came on, the sun had set long ago and the stars were finding their way up onto the bible-black canvas that many knew as the sky. Checking the time, Aiden had realised it was already 11 o'clock. It wasn't late, hell it was pretty early for her, but as she looked over at John she could tell he was starting to get tired, very tired. She didn't know if he was always like this, or if it was just because of today's events, but either way she knew she couldn't be as rude as to ask him to help her decorate her room today._ 'We can decorate it later.'_ the detective had said. **W**e. What was_ that_ supposed to mean? We as in Watson and Holmes, we as in all _three_ of them, we as in just herself and the detective? There were so many meaning. _Too man_y, if you asked her. Let's not even start on_ 'later'_. When exactly was later? It could've been in a few hours, a few minutes, few _years_ even. There was no exact time given, so how was _sh_e supposed to know when the time to decorate her room came? She would've imagined the great consultant detective to be much more precise, more detailed, yet at that moment he seemed to be almost clueless.

Sitting in the car, gazing out the window, Sherlock could not stop going back to earlier today. When the girl first showed up at his door he was more than ready for another pointless 'crime mystery' to be solved, yet there she was revealing that she was his daughter and had came to look for him. At that exact moment his brain seemed to still be working, but at a much normal pace, trying to put things together that were only connected by almost-erased memories and numerous clear facts. Shaking his head, the detective tried to clear him mind, he had to get his game together and show John he could be what most liked to refer to as a parent.


End file.
